


Two Way Street

by Alobear



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 09:20:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/796554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alobear/pseuds/Alobear
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A murder case forces Blair to take a more active part in the investigation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Way Street

## Two Way Street

by Aloysius

Disclaimner: Not mine, no money made, yadda, yadda.

Author's Note: This is the first Sentinel story I ever wrote. Thanks to everyone who had a hand in introducing me to the fandom and helped me out with the story.

* * *

The first thing Blair noticed was the smell. He didn't think he'd ever get used to it; the mingling of sweat, blood and the sharp tang of fear that hit the back of his throat as he entered the alleyway. It was at times like these that Blair really wished he had Jim's ability to dial back his senses. 

Moving hesitantly forwards, Blair approached the epicentre of the busy activity surrounding him. There, lying naked and battered in the pre-dawn light, was the body of a young woman. Blair forced himself to look down at her, acknowledging that this was a person, once full of life that had been brutally ripped from her. He felt it almost an obligation to pay silent tribute to the loss of this individual. It always seemed that policemen tended to view corpses as objects of study that started an investigative process detached from human feeling. Blair realised this was necessary in order for them to be able to do their jobs but, as an anthropologist, he felt he ought to contribute a more emotional response. 

His attention was brought back to the events of the moment by the touch of a hand on his shoulder and a familiar voice in his ear. "Okay, Chief?" 

"Yeah, Jim," he replied, sadness colouring his tone. "It's just - you know." He gestured vaguely at the body. 

The hand on his shoulder slid down to squeeze his arm briefly and Jim said, "Yeah, I know." 

Then the big detective stepped round his partner and approached the uniformed officer who had been first on the scene. Blair followed, watching as Jim flashed his badge, introduced himself and instantly took charge. 

"What have we got, Sergeant?" Ellison asked, now all business after his affection of the moment before. 

Blair saw the young police officer draw himself almost to attention under Jim's steady blue gaze before giving his report. "The garbage men discovered the body around 5:30am when they came to empty the dumpsters, and they called it in. They're both over there, Detective." He pointed out two rather distressed-looking men who were standing off to one side. "I've taken their preliminary statements, but they say they didn't see anyone around here at all." 

"Okay, thanks," Jim said. "Good job. We'll take it from here." 

The two partners headed over to the men who had found the body. Jim flashed his badge again and said matter-of-factly, "I'm Detective Ellison and this is my associate, Blair Sandburg. I realise you probably don't want to go through this again, but I need you to tell me exactly what happened this morning." 

The older of the two men grimaced and replied, "There isn't much to tell, Detective. Dave and I pulled up just before half past five to do our usual collection. The mechanism on the back of the truck got jammed when we tried to pick up the first dumpster. I got out of the truck to free it up and there she was - just lying there. Dave called the police and they told us to stay here and not touch anything, and that's what we did." 

"And you didn't see or hear anyone else in the area?" Jim asked, but both men shook their heads. 

The younger one, Dave, spoke up for the first time. "The garbage truck is pretty loud, though, so anyone who was around would've heard us coming and had plenty of time to get out of there." 

Jim nodded ruefully and concluded, "Thank you for your co-operation, gentlemen. If you think of anything else at all, please don't hesitate to contact me." He handed them each one of his cards. 

As the two partners crossed back over to the body, Blair glanced at his watch. 6:13am. It was chilly, even for March and Blair really wished he was still curled up under the quilt in Jim's bed, rather than standing in a alley freezing his ass off and looking over a murder scene. What a way to start the week, he thought to himself grumpily. He experienced a brief stab of nostalgia for his old student lifestyle of late nights and later mornings, but one glance from his Sentinel reminded Blair of the real reason he was there and he quickly turned his attention back to the situation in hand. 

Jim squatted down next to the body and swept his gaze impassively over it, Blair standing just behind him. The woman looked to have been tall and slim, with delicate features and long dark hair that was now strewn in a tangled mess about her head. There were dark bruises marring the pale skin of her neck, presenting strangulation as the most likely cause of death. More disturbingly, there was dried blood on her thighs and the skin of her wrists was torn where she had obviously been tied up. She was also missing the third finger of her left hand. The wound was jagged and Blair found himself wondering morbidly whether it had been cut off before or after she had been killed. 

As a former student of psychology, Blair had some insight into the workings of the mind, but he didn't think he'd ever fully understand how someone could do such things to another human being. He noticed Jim was focusing in on the woman's left wrist, and leaned forwards, placing one hand on the older man's shoulder to make sure he remained grounded to his surroundings. 

"You got something?" he asked simply. 

Jim muttered, "Maybe," then waved one hand to catch the attention of one of the forensic scientists, who was also scanning the corpse for clues. "Can I borrow your tweezers a minute?" Jim asked, not taking his eyes off whatever he had spotted. When the startled man handed them over, Jim quickly leaned down and plucked a minuscule fibre from the wound on the woman's wrist, bringing it up to his face for a closer look. 

"This is probably part of whatever was used to tie her up," he declared, gesturing at Blair, who snagged an evidence bag from a nearby pile and placed it in Jim's hand. The Sentinel sealed the fibre safely inside and added it to the rest of the evidence before leaving the forensic team to complete their examination. 

* * *

The discovery of an unidentified corpse in downtown Cascade first thing on a Monday morning had a tendency to put Simon in a bad mood, Blair noticed. He was particularly unimpressed since his best detective so far had no leads, and the details of the coroner's report weren't helping. Blair wasn't exactly overjoyed by what the autopsy had revealed, either. As they had suspected, their murder victim had been tied up for some time and raped repeatedly before being strangled. It turned out that her finger had been cut off after she had been killed, but that was small comfort under the circumstances. Time of death was estimated at around midnight. More extensive examination had revealed evidence of several old and partially healed injuries, suggesting a history of violence, probably the result of a volatile husband or boyfriend. This gave them a prime suspect, but that wasn't very useful when they had no idea of the identity of the victim. 

"So we're at a complete standstill even before we've started, is that it?" Simon groused, and Blair was back to wishing he'd just stayed in bed that morning. Given Simon's usual dismissive response to his input, he decided it would be safer not to say anything, instead letting Jim handle the situation. 

"Well, it's true we haven't got anything concrete to go on right now, sir," Jim admitted, using formality as a shield against Simon's frustration. "But we haven't had the results on all the evidence yet, and we do have samples of what's probably the killer's DNA. We're processing the victim's fingerprints and we've got guys out canvassing the area with a picture of her. The victim has to have friends or family who are going to realise she's missing and report it. Rafe's going through the missing persons reports right now, and once we've identified her, we'll have a lot more to go on." 

Just as he finished speaking, there was a knock on Simon's office door and Rafe popped his head into the room. "Sorry to disturb you, Captain," he began, "but there's a guy downstairs who's reporting the disappearance of a girl who looks a lot like your Jane Doe, Jim." 

Jim grinned up into Simon's astonished face. "See? Right back on track! Thanks, Rafe." He rose smoothly from his chair and tugged at Blair's sleeve. "Come on, Chief. Let's go find out who our victim is." 

* * *

Ten minutes later, Blair watched through the one-way glass of the interview room while Jim questioned the man who had come to report his girlfriend missing. The picture he had was unmistakably the same girl they had discovered in the alleyway earlier that morning. So now she was no longer an unidentified corpse; now she was Sarah Phillips, 28, a secretary with a concerned boyfriend. Although, if they found out he was responsible for the injuries detailed in the coroner's report, Blair thought he would have a hard time dredging up any sympathy for the guy. 

"So, Mr Bailey," Jim was saying, "when did you see Miss Phillips last?" 

"Friday night," the man, Ken Bailey, replied. He was in his mid-thirties, tall and well-built, and Blair imagined he would be extremely intimidating to a young woman when he was in a temper. 

"She lives with you, and yet you've waited more than two days to report her missing?" Jim's tone was carefully neutral and Blair knew he was trying to prevent Bailey from realising he was under suspicion. 

"We had a fight," Bailey explained, holding Jim's gaze steadily. "We fight a lot and sometimes when we fight Sarah will go to stay with a friend to cool off. I thought that's what she'd done this time, until her boss called this morning to ask where she was. That was when I realised something must be wrong. I called a couple of her friends but they hadn't seen her all weekend, so then I came here." 

It was at this point that Jim chose to reveal what they knew. Opening the slim file that had been sitting on the table the whole time, he removed a couple of photographs. "I'm afraid I have some bad news, Mr Bailey," he said simply, sliding the pictures across the table. "We found the body of a young woman fitting Ms Phillips' description this morning. Can you identify her from these photographs?" 

Bailey stared at the images in horror and swallowed audibly. "Oh God, Sarah!" he uttered, then looked back up at Jim, his expression menacing. "Who did this to her?" 

"Unfortunately, we don't have a suspect yet, Mr Bailey, though I can assure you we will soon." Jim swept up the photographs and smoothly switched the focus back to the man's relationship with the victim. "We discovered evidence that Ms Phillips had sustained several injuries consistent with being beaten over the past couple of years. Can you tell me anything about that?" 

Bailey's features twisted with anger and grief. "Sometimes I get a little out of control when I'm mad," he admitted. Then he seemed to realise what Jim was implying and he continued, "You're not suggesting I did this to her, are you? I admit we have our problems, but I would never kill her - never! I love her!" 

Behind the glass, Blair grimaced at the thought that anyone could express their love for someone by beating them up. He knew it was a lot more common than he would like to think, and it highlighted another aspect of humanity he would never understand. 

The interrogation was over shortly afterwards, and Bailey was held in custody pending further investigation. He flatly refused to give a DNA sample, despite Jim pointing out that it would likely clear him of suspicion if it didn't match the DNA found on Sarah's body. Blair thought it was strange that he wouldn't co-operate, though he had noticed that some suspects were hesitant to provide DNA. They often seemed suspicious of the request, as though they thought it would give the police the opportunity to fabricate evidence against them. Blair supposed some people must just be unnerved by a scientific procedure they didn't understand. 

As they walked back up to Major Crimes, Jim asked Blair for his assessment of their suspect. 

"I don't know, Jim," the younger man mused. "He did seem genuinely surprised when you told him she was dead. And just because he abused her, it doesn't automatically mean he killed her, too." 

"No, it doesn't," Jim agreed before elaborating on his own thoughts, "but think about this. He admits they fought a lot. Maybe things got even more out of hand than normal, he got too rough and she ended up dead. So he dumps the body and claims she ran out on him on Friday night, giving a timeframe of two days for something to have happened to her. It's a common story, and most murder victims are killed by someone they know." 

"Yeah, but that doesn't explain the wounds on her wrists, man," Blair pointed out. "Strangulation is a crime of passion, I'll give you that, but the evidence says she was tied up for some time, and that suggests something much more sinister. Not to mention the finger thing - that seems almost symbolic, like some kind of signature, not a domestic fight that went too far." 

"Good point, Chief," Jim conceded. "It looks like our case isn't going to be as simple as I'd hoped. 

* * *

The following day, the partners set out to interview the victim's friends and family. Even though it was always distressing dealing with people who had lost a loved one, this was one part of the job where Blair felt he could be particularly useful. His compassionate nature and communication skills meant people tended to open up to him more than they did to Jim, and this case was no exception. 

They discovered from two of Sarah's friends that she had often fought with Bailey, and that he was telling the truth when he said she sometimes went away for a few days after their more violent arguments. Neither friend had seen or heard from Sarah on Friday night, but they did say she sometimes went to a particular bar for a solitary drink when she wanted to recover from fighting with Bailey. 

On arriving at the bar, Jim and Blair showed the bartender a picture of Sarah and asked him if he recognised her. 

"Oh, sure," the man replied immediately. "She comes in here a lot. Always alone, always kinda sad-looking. She usually sits at the bar, knocks back a couple of drinks and then goes on her way. Never says much, just keeps herself to herself." He seemed genuinely concerned when he asked, "She in some kind of trouble?" 

"Actually, she was murdered early yesterday morning," Jim revealed. "So it's important that you tell us everything you can." 

"Murdered, you say?" The bartender shook his head slowly. "That's a damn shame. Poor girl - she always seemed so unhappy when she came in here. I often wondered about her." 

"Do you remember if she was in here on Friday night?" Blair chipped in. 

The man took a moment to think back. "Now you mention it, yes she was," he said. "And she didn't leave right away, like normal. There was this guy - he came up and offered to buy her a drink. I remember thinking it was a bit odd, because she accepted, and normally she wouldn't speak to anybody. But they seemed to hit it off, stayed drinking and talking for quite some time. They left together in the end - do you think it was him who killed her?" 

"I can't say for sure, but so far he was the last person seen with her," Jim said grimly. "Can you tell us what he looked like?" 

The bartender described a man in his late twenties, slender, with short blond hair and an easy smile. He agreed to come by the station first thing in the morning to talk with the police artist, and the two partners left the bar with a new theory in their case. 

Back at the station, Bailey finally agreed to a DNA test when he was told they had a new suspect. Unsurprisingly, the samples didn't match and so they released him. Even though they were almost certain he was innocent of Sarah's murder, Blair hated the fact that they had to let him go. He might not be a killer, but he was still more than capable of causing harm. 

* * *

That evening, Blair tried to meditate while Jim went out to buy groceries. To use Naomi's terminology, he felt the need to process the day's events, but it wasn't easy. Coming to terms with the violence and death inherent in police work was something with which Blair still had difficulty. He knew Jim worried about him, so he tried not to reveal how much the crimes they investigated bothered him, but every now and then a case came along that wouldn't let him brush it off. This murder was having that effect; he couldn't stop thinking about Sarah Phillips and how she had tried to escape one source of violence, only to run straight into another that was even worse. 

Blair heard the loft door open, but remained sitting cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, still trying to find his equilibrium. He tracked Jim's progress through to the kitchen, where he heard the Sentinel putting away his purchases. After a few minutes, Jim quietly padded over to the couch and sat down directly behind his partner. 

Blair pulled himself out of his meditative pose and scooted backwards to settle between Jim's legs, resting his head against the Sentinel's knee. Neither of them spoke, but Blair felt Jim's fingers begin to stroke slowly through his hair and he was immediately filled with the sense of safety and balance he had been searching for since he'd arrived home. Meditation might work wonders for Naomi in enabling her to process unwelcome things in her life, but Blair had found a far greater source of strength and security in Jim's love. 

The two men sat in eloquent silence for some time before Blair eventually sighed and said, "You would have thought I'd have gotten used to it by now, man." 

Jim's fingers stilled their movement through the long strands of his hair. Then the Sentinel spoke, his words tinged with love and regret. "I hope you never do." 

At that, Blair pushed himself up from the floor, twisting round so that he came to rest kneeling on the carpet and looking up into Jim's face. The pale blue eyes were full of a familiar sorrow that told Blair how much Jim wished he could shield his lover from the frequent horrors of their work. 

"I'm sorry, Chief," Jim continued, prompting Blair to reach up and place one finger gently across the Sentinel's lips. 

"You know it's more than worth it for me to be with you, Jim," he reassured his lover, then leaned forwards to replace the finger with his own lips, drawing Jim into a tender kiss that reinforced his words in no uncertain terms. 

Blair felt Jim's strong arms encircle him, holding him tightly as their kiss deepened and the tenor of the moment shifted with their awakening desire for one another. When they finally broke apart, Blair started undoing the buttons of Jim's shirt, holding his lover's gaze as he did so. Jim leaned forwards to recapture Blair's lips, simultaneously allowing the shirt to be removed, quickly followed by the t-shirt underneath. Blair then lowered his head to kiss a slow trail down Jim's neck and chest until his lips encountered one erect nipple. Jim shifted beneath him and groaned with pleasure as he worked it with his tongue. 

Blair loved the intensity of the response he got when he engaged in foreplay with Jim. He knew it was more as a result of Jim's heightened sense of touch than his own skills as a lover, but it was still very satisfying. It worked the other way round, too - Jim had amazingly sensitive hands and knew exactly what to do with them to bring Blair pleasure. Blair had never known sex could be so incredible before Jim. He realised the very first time they made love that he would never tire of his Sentinel. 

As he continued to circle Jim's nipple with his mouth, Blair's fingers stroked down Jim's hard abdomen to undo his pants. Slipping his hands eagerly inside Jim's boxer shorts, he encountered his goal and began running his fingers teasingly up and down Jim's fully erect shaft. Jim thrust his hips up into Blair's grasp and his own hands clutched convulsively at the back of Blair's shirt. Then he lifted his feet up and wrapped his legs round Blair's body so that he could heel off his shoes. Blair took the hint and shifted backwards, pulling off Jim's jeans and boxers as he went so that his lover was completely naked. Jim looked into the younger man's face, his eyes bright with desire. 

"You're falling behind here, Sandburg," he admonished softly, plucking at Blair's shirt to clarify his meaning. In response, Blair placed his hands on Jim's bare knees and stood up, gazing appreciatively at the view this afforded him of his lover's body. 

"Stay there, I'll be right back," he ordered before turning and walking the short distance to his former bedroom. Without wasting any time, Blair divested himself of all his clothes, grabbed some lube from the bedside cabinet and hurried back to where Jim was waiting. 

"Better now?" he grinned, enjoying the expression on his lover's face as Jim's eyes tracked up and down his now naked body. Then he resumed his previous position kneeling in between Jim's legs, and leaned in for another kiss. This time there was hunger as well as affection, as Blair urgently claimed Jim's tongue, sucking it into his own mouth possessively. At the same time, he squeezed some lube out onto his fingers and turned his attention back to Jim's cock. Jim gave a sharp intake of breath as Blair smoothed the cold substance over the sensitive area, then he took the lube from Blair's other hand and coated his own fingers with it. 

Pulling Blair still closer to him with one arm, Jim reached down to his lover's ass with the other and began to ease his fingers into the tight opening. Then it was Blair's turn to gasp as he relaxed and opened himself to Jim's touch, rocking backwards and forwards in rhythm with the thrusts of Jim's fingers. 

"Oh man, that's so good," Blair uttered breathlessly, his body shuddering with pleasure as Jim's fingers brushed against his prostate. Their erections rubbed together as they moved, their breath quickening in unison as their arousal grew. 

After a few more moments, Jim slid his fingers slowly out and put his arms around Blair's waist, lifting the younger man and then closing his legs so that Blair could straddle him. Blair lowered himself slowly onto Jim's cock, revelling in the sensation as his lover gradually filled him. Jim reached out with slippery fingers and began to pump Blair's shaft as they rocked together, their sweaty bodies sliding against one another faster and faster as they both neared climax. Then Blair cried out and came in Jim's hand, the orgasm making him clench around Jim's cock, sending his lover over the edge too. They rode out the waves of pleasure, each clutching the other tightly. 

When it was over, Blair carefully lifted himself clear before collapsing happily down against Jim. They lay tangled together on the couch for a long moment, sated and sticky, and full of contentment. 

"Sure I'm worth it?" Jim murmured softly into Blair's ear, but the smile was clear in his tone. 

"Always," the younger man whispered in reply, snuggling close in his lover's warm embrace. 

* * *

Wednesday morning saw Jim and Blair visiting all the places in Cascade where hessian could be purchased. The results had come back on the fibre Jim had found on the body and it turned out Sarah Phillips had been tied up using hessian rope. They also now had a composite drawing of the man in whose company she was last seen alive, which they showed to all the store owners, but to no avail. As far as they could tell, no-one fitting their suspect's description had purchased any hessian in the recent past, or not that the suppliers could remember anyway. 

By Friday, their investigation had ground to a halt once more. The drawing of the suspect had been circulated to all police units, but there had been no sightings of him. All their leads had been followed to dead ends and Jim was beginning to think the killer might have made his escape. He was sitting disconsolately in the bullpen, thinking about getting some lunch, when Blair came bouncing up, a stack of files in his arms and a smile on his face. 

"Share the joke, Chief," Jim said grumpily. "I could use a good laugh." 

"No joke, man," Blair replied. "Progress! I've been thinking about how the killer cut off the victim's ring finger after he killed her. It just seemed like an oddly idiosyncratic thing to do if this was an isolated murder of someone he'd never met before. So, this morning, I ran a search on missing ring fingers in murder victims and I got a whole string of hits on unsolved cases! I called round the relevant police departments and got them to fax over their case files for us to look at." 

Jim sat up in interest as Blair dropped the stack of files on the desk in front of him. "Good thinking, Chief!" he exclaimed. "You got anything useful in all of that?" 

Blair's smile grew wider. "Don't know yet, man," he told his partner. "I only just collected all the paperwork together. I thought you might like to help me go through it." 

Jim groaned, but set to work right away. 

* * *

Several hours later, Jim and Blair were in Simon's office, presenting their findings. Since it had been Blair's idea, and he had in fact done most of the research, Jim was letting him outline what they had discovered. 

"The cases stretch back a couple of months and there's a clear pattern. Just under four weeks ago, in Ellensburg, the body of a young woman was found early on a Monday morning, naked and strangled. She'd been tied up and was missing the third finger of her left hand, just like Sarah Phillips. It turned out she'd disappeared the previous Friday. The following week, another body was found in exactly the same circumstances. A suspect has yet to be identified, but it was determined that the victims were tied up using hessian rope." Blair paused for a reaction, and got one. 

"So, our killer has struck before," Simon said impatiently. "Get on with it, Sandburg!" 

"Well, three weeks before the first Ellensburg murder, the same thing happened in Othello. Two bodies found, a week apart - both young women, both raped and strangled and missing their ring fingers. In that case, very little evidence was found, but one of the victims was identified as being last seen in the company of this man." Blair rifled rapidly through one of the files and produced a composite sketch, which looked remarkably like the one drawn from the bartender's description of the man seen with Sarah Phillips. 

"So, we've got the same guy killing women in different cities," Simon summarised. "How does this help us, Sandburg?" 

Blair selected another file and handed it over to the captain. "A couple of weeks further back from the first Othello murder, a woman was killed in Spokane. Same MO, but this time the investigating officers came up with a suspect. The victim's name was Marcie Graham and, up until a couple of days before she was murdered, she was engaged to a guy named Brian Heskey. Now here's where it gets interesting," Blair enthused, clearly getting into the swing of his lecture, despite the impatience of his audience. "Heskey worked as a sales rep for a textiles company that specialised in manufacturing hessian. But three months ago, the company went bust and Heskey lost his job. According to Marcie Graham's friends, this was the last straw in a relationship that was already failing, and Marcie broke off the engagement. Three days later, she was found murdered, her ring finger cut off after she had been strangled." Blair brought his report to a conclusion. "All the victims were young women, all of them had long dark hair like Marcie Graham, and they were all murdered in towns where Heskey's textile company had a warehouse. There's one here in Cascade, down by the waterfront, and we think that's where Heskey held Sarah Phillips over the weekend." 

At that point, Rafe interrupted once again by coming into the office with a message for Jim. "Your suspect's been spotted down at that bar where he picked up his victim," the young detective reported. 

Jim and Blair immediately jumped up and headed out the door, grabbing their jackets before making their way down to Jim's truck. It was early evening by this time, and a storm front had moved in from the Pacific earlier in the day. The light was fading fast and Jim drove as quickly as possible through the heavy rain to the bar. Once inside, they found the bartender in a state of agitation. 

"I came in to start a late shift and Sally, one of the barmaids, mentioned that she'd seen that guy in here again earlier," he told them. "Apparently, he started hitting on another woman and they left together about half an hour ago." 

Jim and Blair looked at each other and said in unison, "The warehouse!" Then they ran back out to the truck and set off again. 

While Jim drove, Blair raised Simon on the radio and told him what had happened. "We're on our way to the warehouse now," he reported. "That must be where he's gone." 

"I'll meet you there with some back-up," Simon replied. "Good work, Sandburg!" 

* * *

Jim brought the truck to a stop a block from the textiles warehouse and turned to face Blair. 

"Yeah, I know," the younger man pre-empted. "Stay in the truck and wait for Simon to arrive with the back-up." His expression grew serious. "But what are you going to do, man?" 

"Don't worry, Chief," Jim reassured him with a smile. "I'm not planning on any heroics. I'm just going to do a little recon - scout out the territory, see what we're dealing with, that's all." He glanced at his watch. "Simon's ETA is - what? Fifteen minutes?" Blair nodded and Jim continued, "Relay our exact position while I'm gone and have them come in quietly - we don't want to spook this guy into doing something stupid. I'll go take a look around and be back here by the time Simon arrives, okay?" 

Blair nodded again and then reached out to clasp Jim's arm briefly. "Be careful, man," he said quietly and then Jim was gone. 

Blair heaved an exasperated sigh and fumbled in his jacket for his cell phone. He hated it when this happened. A Guide was supposed to stay by his Sentinel's side, helping and supporting him, not sitting in the truck while the Sentinel went out into danger on his own. Blair forced his thoughts away from the familiar frustration and called Simon as per Jim's instructions. He knew all the reasons why he had to wait in the truck, and he knew he would never be able to persuade Jim or Simon that it wasn't necessary, so he'd just have to live with it. It wasn't that he wanted to go running off into danger with Jim anyway; it was just that he wished Jim wouldn't insist on always going into these situations alone. If he thought about it, that was what really got to him - the fact that having Blair as a partner often left Jim without back-up when he needed it. 

Blair had just finished relaying the truck's position to Simon when the silence of the night was suddenly broken by a piercing scream. The young observer jumped in his seat and peered out of the front windscreen, though obviously there was nothing to see from inside the truck. The scream had come from the direction of the textiles warehouse and Blair realised the situation was now completely different. He knew there was no way Jim would stay hidden if there was a chance he could stop the killer from hurting his captive, and that meant he might need help. Switching off his cell phone and slipping it back inside his jacket, Blair jumped out of the truck and started in the direction Jim had taken. 

There weren't many lights along this part of the waterfront and visibility was further diminished by the driving rain that lashed into Blair's face and quickly plastered his unruly hair flat to his head. Cursing serial killers, Sentinels, kidnap victims and manufacturers of inadequate jackets under his breath, Blair jogged towards his destination, hoping Jim's promise about not indulging in heroics was still holding up. The sound of a single gunshot gave him his answer and he quickened his pace, his heart pounding painfully in his chest. 

Nearing the warehouse, Blair sidled up to a pile of crates and looked round them to see what was going on. As the warehouse forecourt came into view, his breath caught in his throat and he froze in horror, momentarily unable to process what he was seeing. Jim lay on his back in the rain, frighteningly still, one arm flung out to the side, his gun several feet away. Illuminated in the doorway of the warehouse was the figure of a man - Heskey, Blair surmised - and he had a gun of his own. 

As Blair watched, the man stepped out of the doorway and began to advance slowly on the fallen policeman. Galvanised into action by the continuing danger to his lover, Blair scanned his surroundings for anything he could use as a weapon against the enemy. Pushing his fear for Jim to the back of his mind, he spotted the cab of a crane off to his left and scrambled over to it, pulling himself into the seat and running his gaze over the controls. 

Peering back out through the darkness, Blair could just make out Heskey, still moving purposefully towards Jim's prone form. Switching his focus to the crate currently attached to the crane, Blair formulated a hasty plan, realising that his timing was going to have to be perfect if it was going to work. 

Blair allowed Heskey to progress two more steps, then hit the switch to power up the crane and pulled the lever that would control the arm and thus its load. At the sudden noise of machinery, Heskey stopped dead in his tracks and glanced about wildly, trying to pinpoint the source. He spotted the crate but not in enough time to get out of the way, and it slammed into him, knocking him completely off his feet and sending his gun skittering off into the darkness. Just for good measure, Blair raised the crate up about ten feet, shifted it across a bit and then released the clamp, sending it crashing down right on top of the fallen man. Then he was out of the cab and running full pelt through the rain to Jim's side. 

* * *

Simon was just pulling up alongside Jim's truck, the other police cars right behind him, when his phone rang. He snatched it up, pressed the connect button and said, "Banks." 

Sandburg's panicked voiced sounded at the other end. "Simon - where the hell are you, man? Get over here now! I got the killer, but Jim's been hit! We need help!" 

Stunned, Simon spluttered, "Sandburg, calm down! What's going on? Where are you?" But the connection was already dead. Deducing that stealth was no longer needed, Simon grabbed his radio and called immediately for an ambulance, stating "officer down". Then he signalled the other policemen to follow him, started up his car again and sped the remaining distance to the textiles warehouse. 

Turning up the collar of his overcoat against the rain, Simon leapt out of his car and took in the scene. A pair of legs protruding from underneath a large packing crate professed the fate of the killer, and the sight might almost have been funny were it not for the other two figures several feet away. Jim lay unmoving on the ground, Sandburg kneeling beside him in the pouring rain. The young man had removed his jacket and was pressing it firmly against his partner's chest. 

Simon directed Rafe and Brown to take some of the uniformed officers and check out the warehouse. Then he crossed quickly over to Blair and crouched down next to him. He reached out and placed a hand on the young man's shoulder. The shirt beneath his fingers was soaked and, through its thin material, he could feel Blair trembling, though whether from cold or reaction Simon couldn't tell. 

Blair ignored his presence completely, the entirety of his attention focused on his partner, and Simon realised he was speaking, his words quiet but urgent. "Come on, Jim. Hang in there, man. You can do it. Don't die on me now, Jim. You hear me, man? You just gotta hang on a bit longer." 

"Sandburg," Simon said gruffly, hesitant to break in on Blair's mantra but needing information. There was no response. "Blair," he tried again, "the ambulance is on its way. Can you tell me what happened?" 

The question seemed to penetrate and at last Blair looked up, fear and anxiety shining out of his wide blue eyes. When he started speaking the words came out in a rush. "He told me to stay in the truck, he always tells me to stay in the damn truck, but there was a scream and a gunshot and when I got here he was lying on the ground and that bastard was coming at him with a gun, so I tried to find something to stop him and..." Blair's voice trailed off and he glanced over at Heskey's body with a shudder, before turning his attention back to Jim. "Shit, where's that ambulance?" 

Simon heard Rafe calling his name and he stood up as the young detective approached. "We found a girl in the warehouse, sir," Rafe reported. "She's okay, just really shaken up." 

Simon went to take charge of the rest of the men, leaving Rafe with Blair and Jim. It wasn't long before the welcome sound of sirens reached his ears and he looked round to see the bright lights of the ambulance pulling up alongside the wounded detective and his devoted partner. 

* * *

Jim drifted slowly upwards towards consciousness. The first things he became aware of were a dull ache in his head and a strange pressure on his left shoulder. Instinctively, he reached out with his senses even before he was fully awake, and automatically relaxed when he encountered the unmistakable scent of his Guide nearby, accompanied by the sound of soft breathing and a familiar heartbeat. 

Turning his head towards Blair's presence, Jim opened his eyes. The younger man was curled up fast asleep in a chair next to his bed, his face peaceful in repose and partially obscured by his unruly hair. Jim reached out to brush the curly strands away from Blair's eyes, and that was when Simon made his presence known by clearing his throat from the other side of the room. 

Jim drew back his hand and swivelled his head round to meet the relieved gaze of his captain. 

"Hey, Simon," Jim rasped, suddenly discovering his mouth was completely dry. Simon immediately picked up a cup from the bedside unit and moved forwards to allow Jim to take several sips from the straw. "Thanks," Jim said, his voice already stronger. "What happened?" 

Simon sighed. "I was hoping you'd be able to tell me. What do you remember?" 

Jim thought for a moment before replying. "I left Sandburg in the truck and went to take a look around. It was pretty dark so I dialled up my hearing to compensate, which turned out to be a really bad move. I was just getting close to the warehouse when the kidnap victim screamed. It must have knocked out my senses because that's the last thing I remember." 

"Well, from what I can tell, you were very lucky," Simon told him. "You took a hit to the shoulder and must have smacked your head against something going down because the doctors tell me you've got a concussion to go with your gunshot wound. Anyway, the kid heard the scream too and went after you. Apparently, Heskey was moving in to finish you off and Sandburg managed to crush him with a packing crate." Simon glanced fondly over at the sleeping observer. "You've got to hand it to the kid - he's certainly resourceful in a crisis. Maybe we'd all be a lot safer if we just gave him a gun after all!" 

"Sandburg took out Heskey all by himself?" Jim was impressed. "Is he dead?" 

"No, but he might wish he was," Simon replied. "I can guarantee he'll be going away for a very long time." 

Jim was relieved; he didn't like the idea of Blair having killed someone, and he knew his lover wouldn't have liked it either. He looked back over at his Guide and said, "Sandburg is okay, isn't he?" 

"Yeah," Simon reassured him. "He got a little wet and a lot scared, but he's fine. He was bouncing off the walls earlier while you were in surgery, but as soon as we knew you were going to be okay, he just zonked right out. I think playing hero took rather a lot out of him." Simon noticed the telltale tightening of Jim's features that showed he was in pain, and he headed to the door. "I'll let the doctor know you're awake. See you later." 

Blair slept on as Jim endured the necessary post-operation examination and prescription of medication. Eventually, the medical staff completed their ministrations and Jim was left alone with his slumbering lover. He reached out with one hand again and gently tucked the loose hair behind Blair's ear. At his touch, sleepy blue eyes gradually opened and he was rewarded with a sweet smile. Then Blair seemed to remember where they were and he sat up, his expression suddenly troubled. 

"Sorry, man," he said. "I meant to be here when you woke up." 

"You were," Jim replied simply. "How're you feeling?" 

Blair smiled again at that. "Isn't that supposed to be my line?" 

"Well, you know how I am - hole in the shoulder, bump on the head. I gather I have you to thank for the fact that I'm still around to experience the pleasure of those." The lightness of Jim's tone faltered and he continued softly, "Thanks for coming after me. You saved my life, Chief." 

Blair's eyes filled with tears and he rested his arms on the side rail of the bed, hiding his face from Jim. The Sentinel laid his hand on the younger man's head and waited, allowing Blair to respond in his own time. 

After a moment, Blair looked up and met his gaze, his eyes still full of emotion. "Oh God, man - when I saw you lying there, I thought you were dead and then when I dropped that crate on him I thought he was dead and I really didn't care, Jim." It was a difficult confession for Blair to make, Jim knew. "I didn't care then, but now I'm glad I didn't kill him, because you're okay and that's all that matters." 

Jim brought his hand round to cup Blair's cheek. "I'm okay," he echoed, "and you did real good, Chief." He held Blair's gaze a moment longer and then grinned. "Simon suggested we get you a gun so that the world at large will be safe from your flair for creative weaponry." 

Blair looked at him in stunned silence, and for a second Jim thought he'd said the wrong thing. Then his Guide started laughing and Jim knew everything would be all right. 

* * *

THE END

Author and story notes above.

  
Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, detare they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


End file.
